Through the Looking Glass
by Lettingoffsteam
Summary: My first Star Trek fic...please read, review, enjoy :L So this is set in the Mirrorverse from the original series (which I haven't seen). Jim!Whump abounds... M for torture, violence etc., pretty dark, angsty, hurt/comforty...you can read Jim/Bones into this, or later (if I get enough love to continue this *crosses fingers*) Jim/Spock Review etc if you want more .
1. Chapter 1

I haven't seen the original series but I pulled the Mirrorverse from it, and the agonizer...

I OWN NOTHING STOP BRINGING IT UP IT'S A VERY PAINFUL SUBJECT

Please please please review I will give you all the internet cookies.

I hope no-one's too OC, I tried to be faithful to the characters but idk it's 1.30 am and I just don't know.

_Thank you to my wonderful beta SpirkTrekker42__ for…well…pretty much everything about this story that is good (anything bad is all on me), awesome beta is awesome and good at beta'ing_

_Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry. Nutrek belongs to JJ Abrams._

_I am just a simple fangirl who owns nothing._

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Chapter 1: Jim

They don't even look at him for the first few days. They leave water within reach, although he barely even touches that, his arms are so leaden, and tire at the slightest movement. He knows he should be trying to escape, but whatever they've given him is doing the trick, and just breathing without throwing up or passing out is proving difficult in itself.

With a touch of trepidation, Jim opens his eyes; there is no change. Before him is a blur of inarticulate dull color, which he is quite sure is the interior of a small holding cell. He can't see far past his hand, but he makes the effort to drink something because he knows he's not much good to anyone dead.

It takes him four days to realize the water is drugged, but it doesn't make a difference because not long after that he knows he'll die in this hell. Even if his crew could find him, which they couldn't, he would be dead before they could get him out. This place, whatever it is, is so wrong he can't comprehend its existence. The strangest thing is that it's familiar in almost every way, deja vu in its most painful form. It's like a game that he doesn't know the rules of, and can't win, and doesn't want to play. And on the seventh day, he rests, and thinks he might die, and knows that thought shouldn't comfort him but it does. He doesn't die though. He fights, like he always does, against the dark.

Strong arms drag him, because he is too weak to walk, and trapped in a kaleidoscopic, heady, dazed blur, to that familiar room, which he can't see but he can smell, and it smells of him after the first day. They beat him, breaking bruised ribs, splitting his lip, forcing a near-blind eye closed, and he can barely raise his arms to shield his face as they throw him to the floor and kick him so hard he retches, and thinks he'll pull apart at the seams, and it's probably the drugs in his system making him hallucinate, but he thinks he sees Bones, who is angry (or worried) and yelling "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a seamstress!."

He giggles half-heartedly. It only makes them hurt him more.

On the eighth day they question him. They ask the same three questions every time, and they get the same three answers.

"Who are you?"

"James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the starship Enterprise, SC937-0176 CEC."

"How did you beam aboard this ship?"

"I don't know."

"Are you affiliated with the terrorist movement designated 'Judas'?"

"No."

And then they cut him, or shock him, and ask the same questions, and his answers are more and more incoherent. Until only the first answer remains, and he repeats it like a lifeline, his one link to a world outside of this constant torment. They have taken his sight, broken his body and maybe even his mind, but they can't take his name, and his identity. It is his and his alone.

He questions a lot of things on the tenth day. They seem to have dropped the dose of whatever they are drugging him with, and his vision begins to return. That sense of déjà vu is suddenly stronger, twisting in his gut, because he is on the _Enterprise_, no mistake about it. Spock is there. And he is there, as well; but not him, really. Because he is James T. Kirk, and this other, who called himself the captain and has his face, and voice, and everything, is, must be, something else. He finds himself wondering if he has simply gone mad, or if he really is someone else, and he has stolen the identity of James T. Kirk somehow. But he knows his memories are not fake.

It isn't until the other him is ripping out his fingernails one by one, asking him those infuriating questions, that he is sure he has lost his mind. Jim's doppelgänger asks him his name, and Jim just laughs, and he is crying too, but throwing his head back and laughing so hard his chest aches and he can't stop so he laughs more. He thinks, stupidly, about how Bones is always asking him if he's trying to kill himself, and that makes him laugh harder, and his doppelgänger strangles him into blankness. He is sure the universe is laughing back at him. Jim thinks he must be in a vivid nightmare, where most things are the same except everyone is harsher and covered in scars, and crueller than he can comprehend.

He wakes to a gentle pressure on his face, and looks up into the face of the pointy eared bastard. He feels relieved; not much, but almost; and reaches, uncoordinated as a newborn kitten, for Spock's shoulder. It's not really surprising when Spock grips his wrist hard enough to bruise in his other hand and melds with him. Jim feels no emotion, unlike before; but he hears the questions in his mind, those same questions over and over, and he can't stop the Vulcan from leeching what he wants from his chaotic mind.

The Vulcan states down at him, his eyebrow raised. Jim gives a tired sort of grimace-smile, and closes his eyes. He doesn't wake for more than a day, and when he does they are in medical, and he sees Bones and sobs quietly, his chest hitching like he is five years old and woken from a nightmare. He tries to reach for his one real friend in this place but Bones just jabs a hypospray in his jugular and Jim realizes this is not his friend. It hurts him more than he can bear, because this is _Bones_, who is a definite, one of the only certain things in Jim's life.

He wakes to pain and a new, raw scar on his abdomen. He has been here thirteen days, he thinks, unlucky for some, especially him, and now he wishes to die, for the first time in his life, he hopes for death, as a reprieve from the misery of life.

He realizes that they won't let him die. They feed him now, a multivitamin substance that tastes grey, and if he doesn't eat it they simply activate the thing they call an agonizer, which they implanted in his abdomen, and which Jim thinks is an apt moniker for the thing, until he complies. They insert another agonizer in his brain the next day, and after that they don't take him to the room that smells of his blood anymore.

They ask different questions after that. The interrogator, Captain Kirk, who looks like him but isn't, asks him specific questions, about his life, and about history in general. Jim doesn't answer, even when they've used the agonizer in his stomach until he vomits blood, and the one in his head until his ears ring and bleed, and small blood vessels in his eyes burst. His lips are cracked and bleeding and he can barely croak out his name, rank and serial number, but he does, he does, until his throat is so parched he can't even cry out when they activate the agonizers.

He finds he can barely remember how he got here. Scotty was barking something over the comm, about the ion storm compromising transwarp beaming capabilities, and the need to be...somewhere, to help...someone. And then darkness, and then this.

They seem to have broken his head. He can't hear, or see, and the pain is constant whether they are near him to activate the agonizer or not.

He is vaguely aware that he is in the medbay again, although he knows the subconscious sense of security he feels at the familiarity is an illusion, like before. They leave him mostly sedated now, and he is aware somehow that there are people close by him, who cry, or speak (he hears a muffled drone when they do), or hold his hand, but he doesn't have the strength to pull away.

It takes him two weeks to believe the voices he can finally hear when they say that he is home.

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_A/N: Reviews are love and make me want to write more!_

___SpirkTrekker42 you awesome hunk of awesome, thank you_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I wished _really_ hard, but I still don't own a single thing within this text.

_Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry. Nutrek belongs to JJ Abrams._

_I am just a simple fangirl who owns nothing._

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Chapter 2: Leonard

Jim lies still as Bones runs the dermal regenerator along the flesh of his chest and shoulders, which are raw, and criss-crossed with fresh pink scar tissue.

There's probably more scar tissue there than whole flesh now.

Jim doesn't tense under the touch but he flinches occasionally, and lowers his eyes when Bones looks at him, or speaks to him. So Bones doesn't do either, because if his friend needs time, he'll give him time.

Jim doesn't say anything for a week, then, finally, as Bones is injecting a hypospray into his much-abused neck, he croaks out "James T. Kirk, Captain of the starship_ Enterprise_, SC937-0176 CEC.".

Bones starts at the sudden noise, so divergent from the bubble of silence that he has grown used to.

"Jim? Jim, can you hear me?"

" James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the starship _Enterprise,_ SC937-0176 CEC.", the kid sighs.

Bones feels a shiver creep up his spine at the familiar name, rank, and serial number response to questioning, used by prisoners of war worlds over, an archaic military tradition that somehow stuck.

He tries to get through to Jim for over an hour, speaking gently and quietly, but still all he gets is that one slurred string of information, void of intonation or emotion; which almost reminds him of the green blooded hobgoblin he has to refer to as captain. Spock has visited Jim daily since his return in a bleeding, shaking, unconscious heap on the transport platform. Bones had never thought the two were that close, had thought Spock'd stop after the first few days, but even now he'd spend an hour or so each day, just sitting beside Jim.

Bones almost wishes he were here now, with that calm, unobtrusive, authoritative presence, which might serve better than his own fractious emotion.  
Bones wishes for a lot of things lately, like better medical equipment, and supplies, and maybe a psych team on hand, because he's not sure he can fix this, but dammit he'll try.

Bones knows Jim has been tortured, because he's seen scars like this before; scars from wounds that are not designed to be fatal, but to be unbearably painful.

Jim has more than he's ever seen on one person at one time; his skeletomuscular system is severely damaged in many places, and Bones wonders exactly how many bones Jim has left that haven't been broken; as for his integumentary system, superficially, he is burnt, abraded and scarred more than should be possible in such a short amount of time.

Bones runs through his mental shopping list of Jim's injuries; _tarsus of right foot damaged in six places, including smashed talus and navicular bones; eight fractured ribs, four bruised; fractured right clavicle; fractured jawbone; bruised liver, bruised kidneys, right sided pulmonary contusion, continuous with severe, ongoing beatings; left patella severely dislocated; small slashes on the webbing between fingers and toes; lesions on the arches of both feet continuous with stab wounds from a large sharp object, compromising tendon and ligament function; eight out of ten fingernails torn out; foreign bodies embedded in the abdomen and brain.  
_Bones realised early on that the wounds inflicted on the patient were designed to hobble him, restrict his breathing and speaking, make every waking moment an excruciating hell.

Bones finds it helps not to think of Jim as his friend, but as his patient. And it's easier to do that than it might be, because Jim doesn't seem to recognise him at all.

He has used the dermal regenerator, he thinks, on every inch of Jim's exposed flesh. When Jim returned, he had to perform a series of procedures such as complicated microsurgery on small blood vessels, intrusive re-aligning of misplaced ligaments, bones and tendons, exploratory surgeries, eventually removing the foreign bodies, two small electronic devices; one from the parietal lobe, the other from his stomach. He's not sure what they were for, but they didn't look particularly friendly. He sent one down to the science lab, and had intended to open the other one up and take a look, but he's had so much to worry about with Jim, especially those first few days. He wasn't sure if Jim would even make it through the first night.

A dermal regenerator could only go so far, and he still has a lot of healing to do. It will be a long, hard road to recovery. And dammit, Jim _is_  
going to recover.

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_A/N this is shorter, which is, I know, not awesome; but there was nowhere else to leave it without it becoming a mid-story novella of emotional sub-text and monologue…sorry_

Thank you to my reviewers stargazerdown, Creative Spark, whitefox8431, Aneeta Potter, Sparkiebunny, Danaa, Ladycrow67, cat4444, and my fabulous beta SpirkTrekker42; as always, you guys are just-just-*emotional hugs*


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